


Skimming Stones

by rawpickles



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Awkward First Times, M/M, Panic Attacks, Plot twist alert, Romance, Social Anxiety, WAFF, antisocial, hipster yamada, suicidal behavior, yamajima - Freeform, yuto's a weaboo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawpickles/pseuds/rawpickles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nakajima Yuto generally disliked human beings around his age. All of the students in his school knew that, and he wore the anti-social badge with pride. So when there were whispers about this new kid who proved to be even more anti-social than him, Nakajima's curiousity peaked, and eventually decided to follow the other guy to know what he was all about. Haha. Wait, did he say follow? He meant stalked. (Or, how Nakajima fell for Yamada and how he tried to woo him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well hello there.

**April 20th, 2015.**

The boy appeared normal at least—green beanies, a pair of glasses (Ray-ban, most likely), and never-ending fixation on his—sketchbook again? He was wearing a yellow coat, fully buttoned up especially to shield the neck area, a pair of black jeans, and maroon-red Dr. Martens. All in all, he looked every bit like those popular hipsters from Tumblr. Albeit a slightly better looking one.

It was not infrequent in the slightest bit, to catch some of the students dressed that way. Not at all. The hipster fashion industries were sought-after and ostensibly cool in this 21st century, apparently, for God knows what reason. To him, beards and plaid shirts were far than interesting. Much less their fixation upon indie songs, not that he was judging of course, but so many tweens nowadays just jumped on the popular bandwagon without much thought that it made him sick. Have some originality, at least. Okay— _maybe_ he was judging a little bit.

Nakajima went back to focus on the other guy sitting in the bench, noticing how he was almost always with his book, sketchbook, whatever, sans any music player or mobile devices in hand, as if his social life was conceivably non- _fucking_ -existent. Knowing how he was most likely anti-social (which delighted Nakajima to an almost impossible level), Nakajima felt an undeniable pull to know more about the guy. Nakajima stroked his non-existent beard over his contemplation as he pondered upon this. Yes, ‘The Hipster Guy’ fascinated Nakajima, even since the guy’s first day at school a few weeks ago. Too bad they were not in the same class, not even the same grade.

Nakajima Yuto. 16 years old (about to turn 17 and he was extremely excited), was not the brightest in class, but his motto was to at least not be the ‘last’, and he stood by this principle and had so far kept him safe and sound from any public (or acquaintances) scrutiny. He, in every bit of way—loathed attention. He sought serenity and quietude, avoided being in the midst of any ‘group’ like a dirty, disgusting plague. 

So, it should have made sense that he was in the backyard of the school, sitting down on the turf with earphones attached to his ears although were not particularly connected to his iPod. After all, it was indeed the safest area to be in without getting ogled by nosey short-skirts. And by that he meant the shallow chicks that were popular for whatever reason. But back to the Hipster dude.

He may or may not have been following the ‘Hipster Guy’ for almost a week now, and that got him absolutely no-fucking-where. Look, he was desperate, okay? The guy looked so mysterious and it wasn’t even the _‘cool’_ kind of mysterious, but rather—the _‘secret’_ kind of mysterious. The kind that made Bermuda Triangle looked like a big _fat_ joke. He desired nothing more but to approach the guy, ripped the sketchbook off him, (politely apologise), then, finally—enquired whether his eyes were as hazel-coloured as his dream projected. 

And so...he did. And what he got was much more than he could have ever, ever thought.

 

**April 9th, 2015**

Yamada Ryosuke, he tested the name on his tongue and came to a decision that he would never get used to it, the name sounded weird. No matter though, he had to make a good first impression, and good first impressions were good. Since he could not afford to move anymore, he had come to a decision that this would be the last, and this resolution was genuine. 

Eyeing himself in the mirror, he deemed it necessary to put on his favourite deep sea-blue beanie that he loved so much for his first day at school. He had quite a few, somehow the amount of beanie he had had multiplied, then quadrupled, starting from one favourite burgundy-coloured beanie. But this federal blue-coloured one was special. Good luck beanie, as he would call it. 

After a series of checking his teeth whether there were leftovers from his breakfast that stuck in-between his teeth, and finding none, he nodded to himself in reassurance, put on his brand-less glasses, and marched to the entrance/exit of his one-bedroom apartment with reinforced confidence.

Only when he was halfway through the school that he remembered to bring his broken iPod Classic to fix at the Apple store, but going back home and then school would to be too taxing and he would be late then. After all it was his first day at school. He had gone through this for multiple times in his head. First there would be excitement, and then dulled excitement, curiousity, dulled interest, and finally, bored. So far there had not been any other school which students had displayed other outcome, so fingers crossed this would be the same.

In case you had not already noticed, Yamada made a huge amount of effort to avoid attention towards the point where he simply hated it. He had had enough attention to last him a lifetime. Although, it was more like, his attention towards other people. But anyway it’s—complicated.

Finally reaching towards the gate, he let out a deep sigh he had been keeping in. This was it. My _final_ destination.

 

-

**April 20th 2015**

 

“Uh, hi there. Mind if I sit next to you?”

Nakajima shook off his nervousness as the hipster guy scooted over to the right side (Get it together, man!), making room for Nakajima’s apparently huge ass to sit. He sat, as he was supposed to, counting down to 5 Mississippis before opening his mouth to utter some creative question, but was made silent thanks to the spoilsport Hipguy who whipped out a sketchbook out-of-nowhere and began—more like continued, whatever people usually did to a sketchbook. Nakajima himself chose to tone down his excitement to a minimum, attempting to come up with plans to make conversations with Hipguy.

As if his mind was read, Hipguy chuckled to his own sketch, and Nakajima took a daring glance at his perfectly sculpted face for a brief second. Hipguy appeared engrossed in his sketchbook, and provided no elaboration on his sense of humour. Nakajima huffed, his hand reaching his music player, deciding that it was more safe to turn up the volume of his iPod. This was progress though, right?

Not only when he was settled and cozy, body leant back on the bench and made himself comfortable that Nakajima felt it, a subtle touch of a hand on his clothed shoulder and his eyes snapped open, ready to confront whoever dared to touch him before—a very good-looking, brown-coloured orbs, teasing smile, and—oh my God, was he smiling at me? Out of all the celebrities in the world, this perfect angel chose to smile at such a peasant?

Nakajima grew sheepish; his hand tugged his earphones out from both of his ears and dumped them unceremoniously to his bagpack. “E—Eheh, Yes, how may I help you?”

Now he was just straight-up costumer service.

“Your fly is open.” He pointed out.

Yes. Oh, yes. His voice was like honey poured over starving bees. So beautiful. But—? “Fly?”

Hipguy pointed to his private area, his very—revealing crotch area, now presented with a pair of Avengers boxers, Black Widow was very much displayed in public. Nakajima yelped, panic-stricken and just downright terrified. He zipped it up, before making sure nothing else was out of order and decided to laugh it off, despite a whirling vortex of embarrassment threatening to swallow him whole. 

Hipguy appeared way too satisfied and amused, for whatever reason that was. And for a moment, Nakajima forgot his self-consciousness as he realised that he had not seen this expression on Hipguy just yet. It suited him more than he thought.

But man, that first impression was ace, right?

 

**April 22nd, 2015.**

Nakajima finally found out. His name, that is. And such a sweet name that was.

Yamada Ryosuke.

Yama-chan? Ryo-chan? Nakajima had yet to fantasise what he would call his soon-to-be beau, but whatever it was, it was going to be abso-fucking-lutely awesome, pun intended. 

Coming back to the scene at the library, it almost felt like an over-dramatic romance movie cliché, well, judging from Yamada basically being so preoccupied yet again with books around him and Nakajima was just, staring—at his boyfr—hold that thought. He ain’t gay. Nuh-uh. This was just, modern-style admiration. So, no homo. Although, slight bromance could happen. 

He was sitting sweetly in the corner with piles of books that seemingly had swallowed his head, Nakajima finally settled down several tables away. He was a professional stalker, so he had to think and behave as such. Safe distance was good, so Nakajima buried himself in a random book he had taken from the shelf. He did not particularly pay attention to the chosen book as he was too obsessed with examining Yama-chan’s each and every behaviour, but who cared. Certainly nobody, except the librarian apparently, who was giving Nakajima creepy looks.

This time, it was Nakajima who could not take it. How much time would Yama-chan finish all those damn books anyway? It was not possible for any human being to be able to keep their mind focused on one single thing for, for—two hours!

He approached, albeit warily, and all he received was a slight stare on the eyes, before even those were buried along the rest of—were those supernatural books? So he was into that kind, huh? 

“Nice, umm—” Nakajima started. “Nice paranormal books! Do you uh, do you believe in it?”

“Believe in what?”

Jesus, he could only imagine what his bedroom-voice would sound like.

Wait a minute. 

“Ghost-y stuff? You know? Can I?” Nakajima referred to a seat nearby his—his, his Yamada. When he received only a blank stare.

“I don’t know, can you?” Yamada was a sarcastic brat, wasn’t he?

Nakajima feigned a laughter that didn’t quite reach his face, dragging a chair to sit on. He was such a scaredy-cat at this. “So, the ghost thingy? Do you believe in it?”

“Maybe.” There was something glinting on those pair of eyes that Nakajima didn’t quite catch. “But it could just be bullocks. I’m just in for the entertainment.”

Nakajima nodded, almost enthusiastically. “Yes! Entertainment is good! Really good. It’s very, um, entertaining after all. So uh—” Can we hang out more often and maybe you could come by to my place this eve? “Do you watch Supernatural?”

“What?”

“Supernatural, the series. You know, Dean and Castiel?” Or Destiel for short, his fanboy-self added non-verbally. When all he received was a confused gaze, he reconfirmed. “No?”

He tried again. “So what kind of paranormal stuff are you into? Maybe, like big foot? Poltergeist? The Conjuring stuff? Exorcism?”

“I don’t watch TV.” Yamada replied with a non-committal shrug.

“Oh, right.” So his suspicion was correct, Yamada was a noob at modern lifestyle. “Okay then, so whatcha’ reading here? Oooh, Sightings?” Nakajima peered over the title of the book.

Yamada nodded, a little joy seeped into his features. “Yes, I finished reading that one, but I need it again for—” He paused thoughtfully. “—reconfirmation.”

“Reconfirmation.” Nakajima thought out loud. “I see.”

“Would you like to read this book with me?” Yamada held up a book titled ‘Supernatural Power Transformed Mind’. Nakajima nodded happily, swiftly dragging his chair near the other as Yamada laid down the book in the table. 

This was a start of a great friendship.

 

**May 5th, 2015.**

It was almost Yamada’s birthday. 

Nakajima had devised a birthday surprise, and it was going to be majestic, he could feel it. There would be no one but them, and it was going to be romantic, but also in a fun way. So funmantic, as Nakajima called it.

Tying up balloons onto the ceiling fan of his room, he only needed to wrap up his birthday present. The one present he had a hard time choosing. The brunet had consumed so much time looking for it, originally he even had thought of purchasing online for easier—well, easier everything, from cost to effort. But it would not be as genuine as handpicked objects after all, so he went out his way for a journey to find that one perfect gift for his best friend.

He called Yamada for a birthday dinner, and he had said yes, and nothing else. Nakajima was so giddy with excitement he felt his face reddening. 

A knock on the door brought him out of his stupor, and he ran to get the door. Really, having the house to himself on Yamada’s birthday was too good to be a coincidence. His parents had to go for a business trip for several days, so he had jumped in headfirst to ask Yamada to have the birthday dinner at his house. First he got a raised eyebrow, he probably sounded like an outright perv after all, but then he said a hesitant yes.  
“I hope I’m not late.” Yamada said when Nakajima kindly opened the door wide enough for him to enter.

“Not at all!” Nakajima replied happily, closing the door like the polite, well-mannered gentleman that he was. 

Yamada took off his coat and hung it at the coat hanger, and Nakajima saw that Yamada did not even bother to wear nice clothes, despite him asking the latter to do so. The taller man sighed wearily, but all was not lost, because—well, he was here, wasn’t he? And that was all that mattered.

“Let’s go up to my room!” Nakajima offered, taking the red wine as he went along the stairs, Yamada gingerly trailing behind him. 

He opened the door, turned on the lights, then, “Surprise!” 

Nakajima added some confettis into the mix only to realise he did not have the people to throw them. So he took one and aimed for Yamada’s dumb-struck face. Bull’s eye! 

“Happy 17th Birthday, Yama-chan!”

There was still no response whatsoever, and the taller man grew confused and slightly wary. Was he not into surprises? Maybe he did not like the idea of confettis being thrown at him? Oh _no_.

“You're hungry? I mean, I know I said birthday dinner, and I _did_ bring some takeaways from my favourite Italian, but if you wanna eat now, we can—” 

“That's not—” Yamada started, shaking his head. “This is too much. You didn’t have to—”

Nakajima did not hesitate.“Of course I do! You’re my best friend!”

Yamada blinked bemusedly. “I am?”

“Of coooourse you are!” Nakajima dragged Yamada further into the room, closing the door and pointed at the huge banner dangling from the ceiling. “Look at the handprints, those were my hands! And the balloons? Well, it was supposed to be the floating thingies, you know, the ones that fly, but I couldn’t get them. Of course I didn’t really need ‘em since I was going to put everything in my room, but also they are sooo expensive. But these balloons are pretty! They—uh, what are they called? Pastel? Pastel-coloured? I did all of these because I want to create the best birthday surprise! Sure it's not extravagant but it's the thought that counts, right?”

When Nakajima looked at him, he was already covering his eyes with his hands like a child, rubbing frantically at the dropping liquids from his eyes. Nakajima went towards him with two long strides. “Hey, hey, hey! What’s wrong? I can take them down if you want—”

Yamada moved his head from side to side to say no, and Nakajima pulled him to an awkward hug. His first hug, with his best friend. How exciting this was! 

Although, it was still awkward. He did not know where he should rest his arms at, around Yamada’s upper arms? Neck? Head? Under the pit? He resorted eventually to the neck due to the height difference and comfort, and he may or may not chose it so that he could situate his head on top of the latter’s, inhaling the natural sweet scent of the other.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Yamada kept uttering in-between hiccups.

They knew then, that this was a start of something more. 

More than just two friends who only had each other.

 

****

****

August 10th, 2015.

Nakajima was, simply to say— _gay._

Not the guy-on-guy kind, the happy kind. Or try so so so so, _happy._

He was a simple man. Although picky (Yes, the irony was lost on him), because Razer Blade was clearly inferior to the freaking almighty Alienware! Sure it was a bit bulky, but who the hell cared, he was so strong he could make this thing felt like holding a piece of dust. He could already imagine himself pulling all-nighters for WoW or DOTA, or perhaps binge-game Dark Souls 1 and 2. Oh, all of the things he could do! All was made possible for it was his birthday and his mum and dad went their way out of their offices just to celebrate together in a shitty ramen stand they had not the pleasure to eat at, only to tell him he would get a new laptop. Sweet!

He scribbled down the note of the desired laptop specifics to his mum, because obviously his dad was not trustworthy enough to be given information of such great significance. It was not surprising or anything, from long ago Nakajima’s mum had acted as the only member in the family Nakajima had trusted his beloved Tama-chan the Tamagochi with. Poor broken Tama-chan, he must be lonely somewhere in the dusty corner of Nakajima’s room.

Hugging both of them so tightly he was briefly scared of breaking their spine, before retreating to his chair and resumed eating the now-cold shoyu ramen. 

After splitting with the busy couple, Nakajima went ahead and utilised his extra free time outside by taking a detour home. Maybe he could use some vanilla ice cream on a day like this, it was scorching hot anyways.

Apparently the ice cream guy was out of vanilla, and so he was forced to choose the second-best choice, as grudging that sounded for Nakajima. He only chose the best of the best, even in the case of ice creams. No matter, he guessed he could order some mint with chocolate chips and be on his way. Heck, any ice cream sounded fantastic at this moment.

He was merrily swallowing the melting ice cream like some kind of dog when a figure cast a shadow upon him. Instinctively he looked up, to find his beloved Yama-chan! He seemed too red, too sweaty, and out of breath.

“I've been, looking for you.” He said in-between pants. 

Nakajima looked dumb-struck with his melting mint ice cream in hand before he regained composure slightly. “Uh, hi?” He offered.

“Dumbass.” Yamada’s insults were almost fond, and this was no exception. Nakajima welcomed his presence and proceeded to throw his what was left of his ice cream to the bin beside the bench. 

“Here.” A pack of tissues were shoved into his free and clean hand, Nakajima's face lit up and uttered thanks before fixing himself up.

It had been, what, _four months?_ That he got to know Yamada Ryosuke close and personal. They had developed a peculiar friendship, albeit a friendship nonetheless. Nakajima joked around with him every now and then, while Yamada countering his jokes only when they sucked, which meant all the time. Nakajima swore Yamada was like a real-life Uchiha Sasuke, only better, definitely better-looking, wittier, smarter, cuter, all those equivalents.

“Did you get me presents?” Nakajima asked, his hands now free of ice-cream liquid left-overs, he only felt slight stickiness upon his right hand. “Yay!” He exclaimed childishly as Yamada thrust some kind of package towards his torso. 

With unsuppressed eagerness Nakajima’s hand trailed a finger over the cute bow over the top of the package, and he pulled it to untie the bow. “Cute blue bow.”

“It’s turquoise-coloured.”

The taller man said nothing, and after more ruffling the next seconds he pulled out his present. Boy oh boy, it was so beautiful for a moment he was rendered speechless. “This is—oh, wow.” Well, he tried.

Yamada looked embarrassed, but kept it together to maintain his ignorance. “It’s nothing.”

“No, really, Yama-chan, this is beautiful.” 

Nakajima felt the turquou—turqose? _Turquoise_ -coloured crystal upon his palm, felt the weight, texture of the stone. He was—to put it simply, overwhelmed with various emotions, none of them negative—he could feel that the thoughts given to choose this particular object was tremendously deep.

“The turquoise crystal has always been one of my favourites,” Yamada explained. “It provided—,” Yamada paused, seemingly embarrassed at the next information. “Strength, and protection from any harm. As well as, a token of friendship.”

When Nakajima did not respond, he had expected some kind of, rejection? Although it would not be possible from such a kind-hearted soul. However Yamada spluttered when a familiar hug was given to him, more like an embrace, perhaps? As the other guy did not seem keen on letting go. Thank you thank you thank you.

Finally, with a contented sigh, Yamada returned the embrace, deciding to ignore the electric jolt as he felt a slight brush of lips upon the side of his neck.


	2. The end?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nakajima Yuto generally disliked human beings around his age. All of the students in his school knew that, and he wore the anti-social badge with pride. So when there were whispers about this new kid who proved to be even more anti-social than him, Nakajima's curiousity peaked, and eventually decided to follow the other guy to know what he was all about. Haha. Wait, did he say follow? He meant 'stalk'. (Or, how Nakajima fell for Yamada and how he tried to woo him)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all <3

**September 5 th, 2015.**

It was the first time Yamada let anyone enter his house, much less his room. His small house was merely less than five blocks from school, it proved to be efficient and less taxing, so Nakajima thought he crash there for a bit. Yamada just nodded, his head having already filled to capacity with things he did not want. None of them bearable, _controllable._ He just needed to hibernate.

 

         Glancing at the other who was busy taking out his huge laptop from his school bag and then proceeded to show him countless of—what were they? Oh yeah— _Youtubers,_ who were basically just people that got popular in the internet, Yamada let his mind pondered upon his current situation.

 

His current companion, _best_ friend.

 

Nakajima had proved that he could take Yamada’s silence, awkwardness, not to mention his lack of social skills. In that particular topic, they were two pears in a pod after all. However, Nakajima was lively, loyal and none of the things that Yamada was. Yamada was—content with being alone, and while Nakajima loathed attention, he sought the attention of people he trusted.

 

Yamada was not like that. He could do just fine being alone, hence why he had not a single friend. _Zero._ Besides, they gave him headaches. Literally.

        

         But look at him now. How the mighty had fallen.

 

If only Yamada could tell Nakajima things. These were things that were not— _plausible._ But he could not tell his friend, as previous attempts had resulted in nothing but failure, and the impact of them were unbearable for Yamada, he did not want to be shunned. He wanted to stay as Nakajima’s friend. He could not let Nakajima go.

 

         “Are you listening?” Nakajima cut through his thinking process, and waved his hand in front of the latter’s face as if Yamada was in a trance.

 

         “What do _you_ think?” Retorted Yamada, slightly annoyed by his boisterous and cheery attitude.

 

         “Look, look.” And Nakajima went back to the screen of his computer. “This _guy._ He’s awesome! He got like, 40 millions of subscribers. And he gets paid doing what he likes to do! I wish I was a Youtuber.” Nakajima finished with a dreamy sigh.

 

         “Why do you even want to watch people play games anyway? Isn’t it more entertaining when you do it yourself?” Yamada really did not get the point. Nakajima really enjoyed trivial things. A comfy bed, rainy days during weekends, laptop with its games and softwares, TVs, and the _internet._ Did they not make people stupid?

 

         “Because,” Nakajima paused, attempting to come up with a reason. “He’s just a funny guy, okay! I like it when he swears in Swedish. The entertainment that it brought as he dies in video games is just amusing to watch.”

 

         “Right,” The other was not convinced in the slightest. But he saw no reasoning in denying. He should not judge other people just by having different preferences after all.

 

         They fell easily into the routine of a semi-consensual friendship, Yamada letting Nakajima steer the wheel of where their friendship would go, while he—tried his best to make it worth the ride. While it lasted.

 

 

 

**September 9 th, 2015.**

 

         “Sorry, I can’t go home with you today. I have this stupid meeting with the student committees, as much as I hate it. It’s for the upcoming school festival.” Nakajima sighed in despair. He felt dramatic, but he truly abhorred meetings, especially having to chit-chat with other people he did not know nor care. “Apparently not being in the student council requires you many more public meetings than being in one.”

 

         Yamada snickered at his frustrated and slightly anxious friend, slung a bad over his shoulder and glanced up at the other. Nakajima appeared dishevelled and tired for he had been in charge of running countless errands for his class.

 

Nakajima’s class apparently had chosen those who are lazy, lacking social skills, or— _nerds_ (not that he got anything against that) to do the errands for them, and for some reason Nakajima fit all of the categories above. Yamada’s class on the other hand, was the entire opposite of them, as the student rep had chosen those who were keen on making the school festival a success, for they deemed it necessary to make the class the most successful and popular booth in the school.

 

Yamada gave a soft exhale. He could not ignore his anxiety and voiced out his concern, “Will you be okay?”

 

         “Yeah.” Nakajima laughed, stepped closer and Yamada received a half-hug. “Be careful on the way home.”

 

         “Take care of yourself.” Yamada pulled away after a moment. “See you tomorrow?”

 

         Nakajima waved.

 

-

 

        

         The beep sounded so foreign to Yamada that it startled him. He was in the middle of his meditation, and with his iPod broken, thus having no music to assist him in relaxing, the shrieking sound of beeping that his phone gave out was more than enough for him to jolt in surprise from where he crossed his legs.

 

         He reached out to get his phone, thinking it must have been one of those spam mails from the service provider (the only contact he had so far). But he was surprise to see ‘Your BFFFF’ upon the screen. Chuckling slightly, he opened the message and held his breath.

 

         _Hey, seems like I passed out from exhaustion. I’m at the hospital near your place. Come and get me?_

Yamada was out the door in just a few seconds later.

 

 

-

 

        

         When he awoke the next morning in the hospital bed, he was next to a tall, scruffy man that looked far too healthy to be admitted there. Nakajima the bastard was chuckling in amusement at his drowsy best friend. Yamada glowered at him, pulled the white cover and wrapped himself in a cocoon, and received a genuine smile from the latter. Nakajima put a hand on what was left visible of his head, ruffling the brown locks fondly.

 

         Nakajima grinned. “You looked like a worried lover.”

 

         “Shut up.” It was far too early for Nakajima to make jokes, so Yamada burrowed himself further into the thin white sheets.

 

         “It’s cute though.”

 

         Yamada threw the sheet forward to reveal himself, looking every bit like a boiled crab.

 

“I said. Shut. Up.”

 

Nakajima just laughed.

        

**October 10 th, 2015.**

 

        

         Movies were boring, and Yamada had no intention of going to see one. However, Nakajima was adamant. And so very determined. In the end, the argument did not matter, as they both strode to the cinema nearest to school (which then meant that it was the closest to Yamada’s place, that gentleman Nakajima bastard).

 

         After buying two student-priced tickets, they went ahead to buy a large-sized popcorn to share, one that Nakajima happily paid for, as Yamada was more than happy to reject his charity. Nakajima was acting like it was a date when it was _definitely_ not.

 

         “Oh, come on! It’s just your first experience in the cinema! I want to make it perfect. So we have to buy popcorns, some sodas, and, oh—!”

 

         Yamada tuned him out, appeared to be fixated on the popping corns inside the popcorn-making box thingy, whatever it was called. Corn popper? Whatever.

 

         They both went ahead and inside the theatre, after Nakajima had explained a summarised detail about what were to be expected from the movie. Yamada hmm-ed the whole time without displaying much excitement, but he was actually so very anxious he thought he was going to faint.

 

         One major problem lied in the fact that they were to be crowded with people, for more than an hour, potentially two, as Nakajima had said.

        

         The only negotiable crowded place that he was to be in was school. Nothing else. This, on the other hand—was an entirely new experience. Yamada was nervous, and he did not like having to go through horrendous nervous breakdown in front of every single individual in that room. Most particularly, Nakajima.

 

         He did not want to disappoint, yet all thoughts led to it.

 

         Sitting down, while Nakajima was apologizing profusely at a person for having stepped on their shoes, Yamada felt his headache coming in like dulled thuds. He pulled himself together, or tried to anyway—as he closed his eyes, focusing on something else other than the fact that he was in the middle of a _hundred_ (or more) people inside a room that had only one single escape route.

 

         He opened his eyes to stare at Nakajima’s concerned expression. He must have looked ashy, because that was what he tended to be when anxious. Nakajima took a hold of his hand, sliding each finger to fit against his, and Yamada was in no doubt that Nakajima could feel the tremble from his hand.

        

         _Focus on Nakajima. Focus on him and you will be okay,_ he said to himself. And he tried. Really tried.

 

         Halfway through the movie, Yamada felt like his head would actually combust. There were too many to handle, and he left his self-control slipping. So he excused himself to the bathroom, while Nakajima offered to take him there.

 

         “I’ll be okay.” Yamada took a deep inhale to ease his shaking, lean in to Nakajima’s ear so he could hear him. “I just need to pee.”

 

         Managing him self to go the bathroom was one of the achievements he simply would not forget. It was hellish. It was hard. He broke down just in time when he got into the stall farthest from the entrance. He shook all over and he caught himself, wrapping his arms around his body as he wheezed as though he could not breath.

 

         There was a time in his life where he almost fainted, but fortunately this was not one of them.

 

         But he was shaking badly, felt his teeth chattering, and being away from the crowd did not seem to at least alleviate the problem. Instead, now the pounding in his head came in like tsunami waves. He felt like screaming, shouting help. Even passing out sounded lovely to him.

 

         And that was when he knew; there was something wrong with him. Something different from his past episodes. And he was afraid. Of not being in control, of being caught by anyone, despite him not giving a crap about what people might say. I’m scared, scared, _scaredscaredscared_ —

 

         “Yama-chan?”

 

It was a voice he knew too well. And Yamada felt his breath held.

 

         “Hello? Yama-chan?” Nakajima called out again from the door. Yamada felt tears leaking from the inner corner of his eyes; he shut his eyes and sunk his teeth tightly upon his arm until it hurt.

 

         It was too quick to be discovered, but his cover was blown in a matter of time. Yamada had forgotten to even close the door of the stall before Nakajima got to him. Yamada was still biting his arm, muffling his sobs and screams, but he could not control it. Control his head. It hurt.

 

“You’re bleeding!” Nakajima blurted worriedly.

 

         When Nakajima moved his hand to touch the bleeding arm, still latched upon Yamada’s teeth, Yamada flinched. So he put a reassuring hand on the other’s head, whispering. “Was it the crowd?”

 

         Yamada gave no indication he even heard the question, but the sobs were becoming louder and his arm hurt even more. So he let Nakajima gently pulled his bleeding arm away from Yamada, and preceded to give him the most bone-crushing embrace he had ever been given.

 

         Nakajima was crying too as he rested his cheek on top of Yamada’s head, Yamada sobbing disgustingly without tears on Nakajima’s school uniform. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—we wouldn’t have come.”

 

         Yamada shook his head slightly, he croaked. “No, I’m—”

 

_I’m sorry._

“Hush, Yama-chan. I should’ve known. I mean, you know we both hate the crowd. But I didn’t think it was—” Nakajima sniffled. “—that bad for you. I’m sorry.”

 

         And _I love you,_ Nakajima added in his mind. And he felt Yamada stiffened as if he heard it.

 

 

**November 11 th, 2015.**

“I told you for the last time, it was not like that!”

 

         “You certainly made it seem like that.”

 

         Anger. Confusion. Betrayal. Rejection. Sorrow.

 

         Neither Nakajima nor Yamada was familiar with these emotions. All their life, they only had themselves. In the companion of each other for several months now, Yamada somehow knew these negative thoughts were bound to rise, boiled up, because in some twisted way, human beings desired dejection, tragedy, and destruction.

 

         It was supposed to be a harmless school festival; there were bonfire dancing, majestic fireworks, and the after-party. Some delinquent got Nakajima drunk for some reason. Let him repeat that once again, the _delinquent_ , had gotten _Nakajima Yuto_ , the number _one_ (or two, they had not debated on this particular topic yet) antisocial of the school.

 

Yamada and Nakajima had spent watching the fireworks and bought some dangos to share, and Nakajima had persuaded the other to come with him and get a drink for the afterparty. Yamada had politely refused and encouraged the other to quickly go and get them, promising Nakajima he would be here when Nakajima comes back from getting the drinks.

 

         Yamada could be patient. Really patient. But he was far from a patient person. An hour or so passed by and he grew agitated. He marched the stairs to the rooftop after party, striding each staircase as he felt his headache worsen. There were some couples making out in the stairs and he flinched, repugnant at the scene, making his way through and opened the door to the party.

 

         There were stares, lots of them, by that point he was already feeling his head splitting into two. But his pride allowed him much more dignity as he strode through the narrow space, swarmed by drunken underage students. Not caring in the slightest, his eyes peered over the crowd and attempted to spot one familiar face. Face of his best friend.

 

It was supposed to be a great night, but it certainly was not long before it was destroyed, ruthlessly and mercilessly. One where Yamada had caught him preoccupied and was the in the middle of exchanging saliva with some girl.

 

But then again, that was not even the half of reason why he was upset, _no._

         “I didn’t mean it, Yama-chan, I swear. Please.”

 

         Even if Yamada knew he sobered up and was genuine, he chose not to care. He had heard it loud and clear mere minutes ago, when he strode up to where Nakajima was, asking him to go home instead of getting himself drunk stupid. _“I don’t need you anymore, Yama-chan. You’re too broody and anti-social, not like_ — _like Hiroko-chan here.”_

 

Yamada knew Nakajima had meant it, albeit his drunken-self that had slurred that string of hateful words. It snapped Yamada out of his fairy-tale fantasy. Nobody deserved a happy ending, not even him.

 

         “I’m going home.” Yamada’s tone of finality was supposed to be strict and resolute, yet it came out as low, uncertain words, one filled with disguised distress. And Nakajima, slightly intoxicated, merely watched helplessly at his best friend.

 

         As he reached the doorknob that separated the bathroom and the empty hallway, he turned his head slightly, still not meeting his eyes, however. “Please don’t go after me. Enjoy the festival.”

 

And just like that, Yamada was out of his reach once more.

 

 

 

**24 th December 2015**

         Nakajima was bored out of his mind. He had downloaded all the newest _Markiplier_ and _Vanoss’_ videos, and then just like that—his desire to watch them vanished in an instant. It seemed unbecoming of him lately, to be so lethargic about everything. He felt like a sloth, a drastic change from where he felt like a Sonic. As if a light had switched off, and now he was almost corpse-like. Motivationless, not even Shia LaBeouf could get him back on his feet.

 

         He was back. The introverted side of him was taking control once more.

 

         Letting out a sigh, he closed his laptop and leant back, an arm draped over his face to cover the too-bright indoor lighting of his room. The waft of his scented candle flew through his nostrils, but it was impossible for him to be comforted. Not right now.

 

         A loud _riiiiiing_ filled his entire house, particularly his room, as his body jolted in surprise and fell to the floor. _Classic Yuto._ With a grumbling breath, he walked all the way to where the door was. How arduous. The journey to the front door was halted as it clicked open by itself, and he remembered then that he had failed to remember to _lock_ the damn door.

 

         Gingerly, he paused in his steps before opening the door slightly.

 

         To his utter surprise, a person was there, shorter than he was, wearing a blue beanie, mucky yellow coat. Nakajima’s breath hitched as he took it in. His best friend was there. _Yamada Ryosuke._ Slightly unwashed, sure, as if he had been camping in the wild for days without any extra pair of clothes, but overall he appeared safe. Maybe.

 

         “Ya—”

        

         Not even a _hello,_ nor something more— _civilised_ , Nakajima felt him self pulled, literally—arms, hands, head pressed against the other’s, providing no inch of personal space. Yamada had decided to show up and embraced him tightly out of nowhere, pulling him impossibly close. It was odd, to say the least, and his mouth almost opened to utter the question before the younger began shedding tears, with the loudest, most heart-wrenching sobs that Nakajima had ever heard. He had never thought the desolation of others could cause him agony, but that was what Nakajima felt. He felt heart-broken then.

 

         Nakajima’s awkward fingers tangled upon the brunet locks as he pulled him further to the embrace, and unconsciously the tighter the hands felt upon the taller man’s back. They were pressing upon the flesh, and it almost _hurt._ In a good way.

 

         “It’s all my fault, I just can’t keep them out of my head!” Yamada was crying, his voice indistinct due to his face pressing against the other’s clothed chest. Nakajima grew weary and confused.

 

         “What do you mean, Yama-chan?”

 

         Yamada shook his head fervently, trying to deny what he had already said.

 

         “Yama-chan, please—!”

 

         “I can’t, I can’t—!”

 

         Nakajima grabbed onto the other’s upper arms, pushed him slightly to reveal a grief-stricken face. He was a mess and Nakajima felt sorry for him. But this was no time for the dwelling. It made no fucking sense, and if he had to beat it out of Yamada, he would.

 

         “Tell me.” Nakajima spoke strictly. Yamada blinked a few tears down, too surprised at the sudden authoritativeness. Nakajima saw the surprise upon the other’s face, then with a soft sigh, he brought his thumb to wipe of any fresh tears that were trailing down his beautiful cheeks.

 

         Without a word, Nakajima took his trembling hand and led him inside the house for safety. The nosey neighbours had enough fun watching the drama already.

 

         After Nakajima sat him down on the sofa, he thought he could fix him some hot chocolate before a desperate hand shot up and grabbed Nakajima’s wrist. Yamada, without making eye contact, whispered quietly. “Please, not now.”

 

         So Nakajima sat down beside him, holding both of his hands gently when Yamada started crying again. This time, it was soft. There were silent sobs and small hiccups that tore Nakajima to pieces.

 

         They fell asleep that evening, sure it was too early to be sleeping, but both were drained with their own issues. Yamada’s body was pressed against the back of the sofa while the taller man’s reclined at the edge, hands were still holding each other’s together until they were sweating. But then something akin to contentment was evident upon their slumbering faces.

 

**May 9 th, Year unknown.**

          Yamada was—special.

 

         That was what _they_ said.

 

         There was nothing else that had been explained, really. Only that he could hear voices, that he knew were not meant to be heard. Sometimes he could dull the voices in his head, especially when he was at his room. But most of the time, he could not even control it.

 

         He did not even know how special he was until he realised it himself. He could hear thoughts—thoughts from other people’s minds. He had thought it was normal for people, before he got caught.

 

         From then on, he was always the weird one at school.

 

         Time passed by, and he grew older, 8 years old, 9 years old, and finally—10.

 

         It was the first time he got headaches from hearing thoughts, and before his 10th birthday he had learnt how to control the input and output of thoughts flowing into his brain. That proved to be worthless when he turned 14.

 

         There were more people in his head, sometimes someone from even outside his peripheral vision. He was going mad, he cursed a lot, he got angry a lot, and he pulled his hair a lot.

 

         It drove him insane. And people would not just shut the hell up.

 

         Being an orphan was easier than having parents, but at the time he was jumping from a foster home to another, only to be rejected for he was old enough already that childless parents usually did not go for. So he settled in a small house by himsef, paid by the government.

 

         He bought some pills one day, and took a lot of them into his mouth, intended to end it all, it was supposed to work as the book had said. But a neighbour that was at the time walking their dog around the residency area saved him, and his stomach was pumped and he spent years in rehab, before having to repeat school again.

 

         And only then he discovered anti-depressants. It became his best friend.

 

         Yamada watched from his window, his beanie hung low to cover his forehead and kept on watching, as the rain became storm. It was too dark to see anything, but the tick tick tick that the water made as it beat the window soothed him. He drew in his knees and rested his cheek upon them, hands tightly looped around his thighs.

 

_Wouldn’t someone come and save him from his misery?_

 

        

**25 th December 2015**

        

         Nakajima woke up to Yamada staring distantly at the turquoise crystal that rested by the TV, he himself was sitting in the single sofa, knees drawn up as he locked his arms around his legs. He appeared exhausted despite having just woken up from his deep slumber. The taller man yawned to give indication that he was awake, but Yamada seemed unaware. In fact, he appeared almost out of it.

 

         “Yama-chan?”

 

         Yamada slowly turned, finally took a good look on Nakajima, studying him, as he was some object. The latter looked sheepish for whatever reason, but as long as Yamada kept his attention to him, he thought he could get something or two out of him.

 

         When Nakajima rose from the sofa and approached him in a very careful manner, Yamada looked away, breaking their eye contact. It hurt Nakajima more than he thought, he felt rejected. But he could not give up now; he must know what triggered Yamada to be so distant.

 

         He kneeled down in front of him, eyes locking with each other. There were no words, just soft inhale and exhaling of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Yamada looked sad, _very_ sad, and regretful. Guilty. For something, Nakajima just knew it. But what?

 

         Wordlessly, he touched the locked hands that were securing Yamada’s legs. He saw the other flinched, yet paid no heed on it. Instead, he grabbed and curled his fingers atop. “I’m not going anywhere.” Nakajima said, softly, gently, the way Yamada needed it to be.

 

         When Yamada’s face crumpled slightly, as if holding back tears, Nakajima rose on his feet, sat by the thick armrest of his sofa, and held him gently. He gave a soft kiss on top of Yamada’s head, breathing into his soft locks as he uttered with surprising tenderness. “I’m not leaving you. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

         Yamada responded with a pained whisper, then he felt his heart break.

 

         “It’s not you that was going, it’s me.”

 

         Nakajima stilled. “Are you—moving?”

 

         He felt Yamada shaking his head in Nakajima’s arms. “Then, what is it?”

 

         Yamada slowly pulled out of the other’s embrace, staring at him squarely in the face for some reassurance. Nakajima could not provide any; his anxiousness barely could even comfort himself. Surely it could not be—?

 

         He wordlessly tugged down his turtleneck, and Nakajima gasped. It revealed the bright, fresh, reddened horizontal marks that lined around his neck, pretty much an obvious attempt. Yamada Ryosuke had tried to hang himself with some rope.

 

        Yamada face was scrunched up again, and he looked more than ready to cry. Meanwhile Nakajima did not move, not even breath, he tried to comprehend this. He really tried. But, the words ‘suicide’ and ‘Yama-chan’ did not even belong together in the same sentence. So, why?

 

         It was long since Yamada’s tears had rolled down his cheeks again as he attempted to cover his evidence upon his neck, but Nakajima could not tear his eyes away from the wounded area, even with his turtleneck currently in the way. There was so much confusion.

        

         “Naka— _Yuto,”_ Nakajima slightly flinched at his first name being called. “There’s something you need to know about me, I—”

 

         “Yama-chan,” Nakajima whispered gently. “I don’t care about you, what you are, were. None of them matters.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, okay? I did ever since I saw you in the school backyard.”

 

         Teary eyed, Yamada glanced at him, noting his genuineness and he found his breath shuddered. The feelings, they were all to complex for him to handle, but somehow it made it better.

 

         Nakajima planted a soft kiss on Yamada’s left eyebrow, tip of his nose, and the corner right of his lips. Each kiss felt like it was drawing Yamada closer and closer to death.

 

         He did not mind.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was stuck in my head. I had to write this up even if I have an exam coming up in exactly, uh, 2 hours. Wish me luck! And thank you guys for reading!


End file.
